Burning Bridges (Shattered Highways Book 2)

by Tara N Hathcock

  Logan slammed a bottle of water down in front of her and set Dave’s tea down next to him, only slightly more gentle. “Enjoy,” he said.

  “I don’t believe you really mean that,” Quincy said gleefully, “but I will.”

  She and Dave grinned at each other as Logan glanced balefully at his own plate of lasagna, hesitating only briefly before reaching into the pile and pulling out a Fudge Round and a bag of Skittles.

  “It really wasn’t so bad this time,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Logan, it’s brown,” Quincy pointed out.

  “It’s lasagna. It’s supposed to be brown.”

  “What kind of lasagna have you been eating all your life?” Quincy asked in horror, peering closely at him. “Because if you’re joking, I can’t tell.”

  “At least I remember all the lasagna I’ve eaten!” Logan shot back.

  They were just having fun. It was their thing, this back-and-forth bantering. They weren’t fighting. Not really. But that one stung.

  He’s not wrong.

  The sting must have shown on her face before she had a chance to recover because Logan shifted uneasily in his chair. “I didn’t actually mean-”

  “Children,” Dave mercifully broke in. “Why don’t we just enjoy whatever we choose to eat and call it a night,” he suggested.

  “Fine,” Logan agreed. He looked momentarily like he might want to pick up the thread of his shattered apology. He dumped a handful of Skittles into his palm and popped the entire thing into his mouth, working himself up to it, so Quincy decided to put them both out of their misery.

  “I’m ready,” she announced to the room at large, just before Logan managed to open his big mouth again.

  Both men looked up blankly from the small piles of junk food that had accumulated in front of them.

  “For dessert?” Logan asked helpfully. “Because I know for a fact that I didn’t mess up the buying of ice cream.”

  “We have ice cream?” Quincy asked, momentarily distracted. “Pistachio?”

  Logan snorted. “Absolutely not. Pistachio is unnatural and should never have become an ice cream flavor. We do, however, have toasted coconut,” he added, throwing her a bone. She smiled, suddenly willing to forgive the assassination attempt on one of her favorite meals and the uncalled for remark that had woken the beast in her head.

  “You were saying?” Dave asked, not-so-subtly shifting the conversation back to the point at hand.

  “Oh, right.” She mentally shook herself. “I’m ready.”

  “For?” Dave asked carefully. He probably knew where she was going, or at least hoped, but he was giving her the ability to set the terms. What a gentleman.

  “Finally,” Logan said. “I was wondering how long you were going to make us wait.” Enter the exact opposite of gentleman.

  Dave frowned. “Logan, Quincy is under no obligation to participate in the research. She is here for safety and because she is part of our family now. No other reason.”

  Logan scoffed. “Uh huh. I’m completely convinced that the only reason she’s hanging around here is because she’s in danger and because she likes our company. Firstly,” he said, holding up a solitary finger to bypass whatever she was going to say to that, “she’s been surviving danger for a lot longer than we’ve been protecting her from it. Secondly,” he paused for dramatic effect, “we keep trying to poison her with improperly cooked meals. She can’t like us that much.”

  Quincy smiled at him. “Is it my turn to hold up fingers?” she asked. “Because I only need one.”

  “See,” Logan said, looking at Dave. “Point proven.”

  Dave just rolled his eyes at Logan’s antics and turned back to Quincy. “What is it, exactly, that you’re ready for,” he asked her. “Because you can do as little or as much as you’d like.”

  Quincy took a breath, still not fully ready to commit but knowing Logan was right. She was here for a reason. Best just to get on with it.

  “Logan told me about Jones.” She glanced at Logan and shrugged her shoulders in apology for bringing it up. “About how you diagnosed him. I know our symptoms are different but is that something you could make work for me?” she asked.

  Dave nodded thoughtfully. “I believe so,” he said. “Logan has told me about some of the things that happened while you were living in Sheraton, and when you were on the run, of course. I’ve been thinking of options that might work. Methods we could try.”

  “Good. That’s good,” she said, blowing out her breath. “I mean, I do want to know, of course. It’s just…,” she trailed off, not sure how to explain.

  “Harder to keep pretending once you finally have some answers?” Logan guessed.

  “Exactly.”

  “Great,” Logan said, slapping his hands together. “Let’s grab some ice cream and get started.”

  “Now Logan, really,” Dave began, “I think we have a little time-”

  “Actually,” Quincy interrupted, “I have some conditions first.”

  That got their attention and they both turned to her, Dave with a questioning look, Logan instantly suspicious.

  “I’ll cooperate and help with the research in any way I can,” Quincy said. “You can start looking into my condition. I can organize your notes, research possible new cases, whatever you want. But I need something in return.”

  “Go on.” Dave nodded encouragingly. If only it would be that easy.

  “I need to be able to go outside by myself,” she said. Logan opened his mouth but she cut him off.

  “Not just outside. I need to be able to go places. By myself. You’ve got to loosen up on the leash,” she said, looking pointedly at Logan.

  “You know why you can’t do that,” Logan argued. “After everything we went through just to get here, I would think that would be obvious.”

  “First, it’s not that I can’t. It’s that I shouldn’t. There’s a difference,” Quincy pointed out. “And I’m not asking to sing karaoke on open mic night at the university bar. I just need some alone time.”

  Logan looked a little hurt at that. “I’m just trying to keep you safe,” he said.

  “I know. And I appreciate it,” she tried to assure him. “I might not say it very often, but I really do. But like you said, I’ve been keeping myself safe for a lot longer than you have.” She paused and gave a short laugh. “Let’s face it, after eight years, I can spot a tail better than you can.”

  “Well, you do have a built-in early warning system I suppose,” Logan begrudgingly admitted. “Still, I managed to get close. And then there was Brandon…”

  “Let’s not,” Quincy interrupted, “talk about Brandon.”

  Poor Brandon; the angry, sociopathic mercenary employed by the Colonel to get close and evaluate her as a target. Quincy suspected Brandon had met a bitter end after she managed to escape from him in that two-bit gas station. The last she’d seen, he’d been curled up on the floor of the bathroom, cursing an octave higher than normal. The Colonel had already seemed unhappy with his performance. That certainly wouldn’t have helped matters.

  “Listen,” she said, “I just want to be able to go to the library a few blocks over, maybe hit the shopping center down the road. Both are running distance and I’ll be on the lookout for random men who want to be my friend, okay?”

  “That seems fair,” Dave said diplomatically before Logan could jump back in. “And kind of you to allow us to weigh in, considering you’re not a prisoner here and are free to do as you like.” The latter was said more for Logan’s benefit than hers, and the two men shared a long look before Logan finally sat back.

  “You may have a point,” he admitted, running a hand across his face. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  Having apparently settled the matter, they lapsed into an uneasy silence. She knew Logan wasn’t comfortable with the idea, but she also knew he would abide by it. As much as he could, anyway. She’d have to time her outings just right if she wanted to avoid a
tail.

  “Are those your only conditions?” Logan finally asked, having emptied the bag of Skittles and moved on to M&Ms. “I mean, let’s just get it all out on the table now.”

  “Nope,” Quincy said. “That’s it. A little freedom and a little time. That’s all I need.”

  “Great,” Logan said. “So now that’s settled, let’s move on to a more pressing question.” He sat up, leaning towards the table. “Where exactly,” he pointing at the sugar-covered table, “did you get all of this junk if you’ve been so sequestered?”

  Fair point. Quincy started to tell him but Dave cut her off.

  “The vending machines, right?” he guessed. “The ones in the lobby of the clinic?”

  Quincy nodded, but Dave looked curious. “How did you get it without money?”

  “Or do you have millions stashed away in your sock drawer,” Logan jabbed, “hidden away for a rainy day or another assassination attempt?”

  That was a little too sassy for her liking. If she didn’t even have a bed, she certainly didn’t have a sock drawer.

  “I picked the lock,” she replied matter-of-factly. “It’s not that hard.”

  That clearly wasn’t the answer they had been expecting.

  “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or just egging Logan on,” Dave said carefully. But Logan was grinning.

  “Oh, she’s completely serious. Aren’t you?” he asked. “I bet you have an actual lock pit kit stashed away in that backpack of yours.”

  “You’ll never know,” she retorted. She did, actually. She’d had it for…well, she didn’t actually remember how long.

  “Where on earth did you learn to pick locks?” Logan asked, clearly thrilled to discover such an illicit hidden talent.

  Quincy opened her mouth to reply but then shut it. Where did she learn to do things? It was the age-old question; one with no answer.

  Both guys were looking at her expectantly but she just shrugged her shoulders, feeling the desperation and sadness of the admission.

  “I don’t remember.”

  And really, wasn’t that the whole problem?

  Not for much longer.

  Chapter 9

  Claire

  Claire opened her eyes and turned her head towards the door of her cell, unable to ignore the pounding any longer.

  “Claire,” Amy hissed. “Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”

  Claire sighed and pushed the covers away. A quick glance at the clock confirmed it was exactly as late, or maybe as early, as Claire had thought.

  She opened the door and Amy slipped silently through, closing it quietly behind her.

  “Amy,” Claire huffed in exasperation, “it’s 2:00 in the morning. What do you want?”

  “Why?” Amy questioned. “Were you sleeping?”

  Claire was not sleeping, which Amy knew full-well.

  “I was…resting,” she said instead. “And you know you’re not supposed to be out of your room after lockdown. Remember what happened last time?”

  Amy shrugged. “Yeah, well, I can’t just lay in that room, awake, staring at the ceiling all night.”

  “We all have to stare at our ceilings all night. We adjust.”

  “You get some sleep at least,” Amy pointed out. “I get nothing.”

  That was true. Claire had thought her insomnia was bad until she met Amy. Amy had confided that she was only able to doze for about 30 minutes every day, which sounded like a terrible fate to Claire. No wonder she was so high-strung.

  Amy stalked to Claire’s bed and threw herself onto her back. An overly dramatic response to whatever she had to share, Claire was sure.

  “Guess who I just saw popping pills in her office?”

  “Amy!” Claire exclaimed. “It’s bad enough you’re roaming our hall after lockdown. You can’t be seen around any of the staff offices!”

  “Relax mom,” Amy said in annoyance. “I wasn’t seen.” She shrugged. “Well, except by her.”

  “I assume you mean Dr. Cans?” Claire asked, almost against her will. She always seemed to get sucked into Andre and Amy’s melodrama somehow.

  “Yep,” Amy said. “She was in her office, either nursing a massive hangover or warding off a migraine.”

  “As it was her first full day working for Satan’s minions, it might be both,” Claire said dryly.

  “Either way, people at her level don’t work past 5:00. They sure don’t work at -,” Amy glanced at the clock hanging above the door, “2:30 in the morning.”

  Claire finally gave in, accepting that Amy wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and drifted over to settle in beside the woman sprawled across her bed, back pressed straight against the rough, cold wall of the room.

  “Could you see what she was doing?” she asked.

  “Not really. So I went in and asked.”

  Claire closed her eyes, shaking her head. “Amy.” She wished she were surprised but she wasn’t. “She could have called security. She still could.”

  “Yes, but she didn’t. In fact, she seemed almost glad to see me.”

  At this, Claire glanced skeptically at Amy. “Glad to see you? That would be a change.”

  “You’d think, as much as we’re tied to their job security, these doctors would be more eager to see us than they usually are,” Amy agreed. “But this one actually was. Or she seemed to be, anyway. She didn’t seem to think it was weird at all that I was roaming around after lockdown.”

  “She seems to know about the insomnia,” Claire agreed. “Which is more than the other doctors knew when they started.” Claire decided not to mention the other things she seemed to know about.

  They were quiet for a few minutes, Claire with her eyes closed and Amy staring blankly at the ceiling.

  “Well,” Claire finally broke the silence, “what did you talk about?”

  “Nothing, really,” Amy said. “She didn’t try to turn it into a session or anything. In fact,” she said, pausing to think, “I don’t think she actually asked me anything. She seemed surprised to see me, but otherwise, she let me do all the talking.”

  Claire laughed, a mix between bemusement and exasperation. When Amy got started, it could be hard to get her to stop. Especially when she was angry. “And what exactly did you say?”

  “I asked her the obvious question. What was she doing in her office at two in the morning?”

  “And her answer?”

  “That she was unpacking,” Amy said, “and that she was a night owl. Apparently, she sees no point in rushing back to her company-mandated housing on the property. Did you know the staff have to live here?” Amy asked.

  “I know large corporations have on-site housing for some of their essential employees,” Claire said. “And this campus is huge. It makes sense there would be something.”

  “But required?” Amy asked. “Doesn’t that seem a bit off?”

  “What?” Claire asked sarcastically. “Does that seem a little controlling to you?” She spread her arms, indicating the small room they were supposed to be locked into. “I can’t imagine.”

  “Us, yes. But the employees?” Amy said. “Seems extreme. Anyway,” she paused, took a breath, “she didn’t exactly chase me out of there.”

  “The other doctors would have,” Claire mused. “They certainly wouldn’t have stood around, decorating their offices, while one of their dangerous patients questioned their life choices.”

  “Nope,” Amy said. “And they wouldn’t have let me help, either.”

  “Help?” Claire asked, surprised.

  “Gave me two boxes of books to set out. Mostly medical journals, textbooks, and mind-numbingly boring biographies. And just a few of these.” Amy reached under her uniform top, pulling a small, slender paperback out from under her loose scrub top. She held it above her head, idly flipping through some of the pages.

  “Amy!” Claire gasped. “Did you steal that from her office?” Claire was aghast. Wandering the hallways after curfew was one thing. Amy had b
een caught before, and punished severely. The risk was worth it because sometimes a little rebellion is good for the soul. To steal from the new doctor’s personal belongings though? How was she supposed to keep Amy in one piece if they killed her?

  “Of course,” Amy huffed, offended that Claire would assume otherwise. “I mean, they’re keeping us prisoner here, with no forms of entertainment other than watching you and Andre play chess over and over. Of course I’m going to lift something interesting when I get a chance.”

  Amy tossed it carelessly onto Claire’s bed. Jane Eyre.

  “Dr. Cans just happened to have a travel-sized copy of your favorite novel lying around her office?” Claire asked, eyeing the book suspiciously.

  “She has more than that.” Amy sat up, warming to her topic. “She must be quite the feminist because she has the complete works of Jane Austen, plus all three Bronte’ sisters’, not just Charlotte and Emily. A little Mary Shelley,” Amy said, ticking them off her fingers, suddenly lost to Claire, “Dickinson, Alcott, Faust - all of the greats.”

  “And you do love the classics,” Claire said softly, thinking. Amy’s good mood was hard to ignore. Claire could feel it beating against her chest, demanding to be let in. But in this place, she could never let her guard down.

  What were the odds the new doctor just happened to have all of Amy’s favorite novels in her office? Slim. Amy’s sudden shift in attitude was enough to set off Claire’s warning bells.

  Dr. Cans had an agenda - they all did. Perhaps Claire had been foolish to limit the doctor’s methods to those of her last two predecessors. Perhaps she had a method all her own. Claire’s mother had had a saying, something to do with flies and honey. Detachment and intimidation hadn’t worked on them. Maybe Dr. Cans had decided to try honey, instead.

  Claire would need to watch her very carefully. The others weren’t very good at seeing behind the mask. They weren’t as astute as Claire at reading motivation in the people around them. So she would have to do it for them.